


ben solo’s twelve therapy porgs

by crossingwinter



Series: Star Wars Drabbles & Ficlets [7]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: porg dad ben solo, porgana solo, porgs, tags will update as I go, the reylo has arrived, ultimately will be reylo but am not tagging that until it has some reylo substance in it
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-07
Updated: 2018-05-02
Packaged: 2019-03-28 01:51:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 5,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13893699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crossingwinter/pseuds/crossingwinter
Summary: in which ben solo begins to heal himself with the help of a determined flock of porgs.a series of ficlets posted first totumblr





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> hello and welcome to ben solo's twelve therapy porgs.
> 
> all ficlets are posted first to tumblr and thus are unbeta'd, so take that as you will. i don't know how many of them there will ultimately be, and i may post them out of order as inspiration strikes. 
> 
> cheers, and happy porgs.

there are things nesting in the falcon.

at first, he’d thought that it was just that his father was even worse at taking care of his beloved space ship than ben had remembered.  this wouldn’t have surprised him.  his memory is…spotty about his youth.  too many memories seem more like nightmares, distorted, filled with a dark whisper that makes him want to shut off.

the falcon doesn’t look like how he remembered it as a kid though.  he’d been too small for it then; he’s too tall for it now.  but more importantly, the creatures have ripped apart what upholstery they’ve been able to find weakness in and stolen stuffing and fabric and thread to build their nests for their tiny squeaking nestlings.

they’re  _weird_  looking things, too.  they’re tiny, for one thing–they barely come halfway up his shin, and they have big eyes that are too wide.  no beaks, but wings; their feathers look like fur which somehow still allows them to be aerodynamic; and they have tiny sharp teeth.

“the porgs are…a bit hard to keep out,” rey grimaces when he opens the door to the cabin that they’ve assigned to him.  (assigned, because they don’t want him in the communal bunk.  he knows this.  it has nothing to do with the fact that, likely somewhere in some will, this ship was left to him.)  (he tries not to think about the reason for that will, the way his father’s eyes had faded as he’d caressed his face one last time.   _the face of my son,_ his father hadn’t thought he was a monster in the end.  he’d been wrong.  he’d been wrong, and he’d died for it and–) “ben?”

“it’ll be ok,” he tells rey.  “thanks.”

and he pushes into the cabin.  it’s not the one he’d slept in growing up, thank the gods.  he didn’t think he could take that.  that’s the cabin that rey–unknowingly–has claimed for herself.  

he settles onto the bunk–probably still too small for him.  it’s so  _strange_  being too big for this ship.  and he nudges one of the porgs off of the pillow.

“look, we’ve got to share,” he tells it when it glares at him.  “i’m not gonna kick you out.”   _i’m just gonna hope you get the picture and scram,_ he thinks before he remembers rey’s warning that they’re hard to keep out.  so he resigns himself to them, just as he resigns himself to everything these days.  expectations have only ever fucked him over anyway.

the he kicks at the light switch by the bunk and it turns off and he tries to let sleep take him.  it’s easier sometimes now–now that he doesn’t have snoke in his head.  of course that means he’s alone in his head and he’s not sure he really wants that either.  somehow, his thoughts always drift to his dad, to the expression of reddened shock when he’d…when he’d…

a porg hops up onto the pillow, having decided that there’s more than enough room for ben to share.  it snuggles into his hair and for a moment, the purring noises it’s making almost comfort him.

“ _ow!”_ he yelps and the porg has yanked a chunk of his hair off and is making its way back to it’s nest.  ben swats at it.  “no.  i  _will_  kick you out if you do that again.”

the porg chirrups at him and he doesn’t think it gets the picture and is so tempted to summon his saber and ignite it through the damn thing.

just like his dad.

he sags and turns away from the creature.  it’s just trying to make a nest for its little nestlings.  his dad had once helped him make a blanket fort in his room to try and keep the darkness at bay–

a porg–the same one? a different one?–hops up onto his pillow and nestles into his hair again.  ben prepares himself for the shock of it tugging his hair out of his scalp, but it never comes.  this time, the porg purrs and purrs–a gentle enough noise not to disturb him but also enough to distract him from his own thoughts.

at some point, ben doesn’t know when, he wakes up.  the porg is still cuddled against his head.  and there’s also one tucked in his armpit.


	2. Chapter 2

“what happened there?” rey asks, pointing to the side of his head.

ben’s hand flies up and he feels the bald spot.  he hadn’t thought it would be visible, had carefully brushed his hair out of his face so that it hid the spot.  but his hair has decided to uncooperatively wave itself the way it usually does, revealing the red patch of skin that the porg–he has decided to name it captain–had decided didn’t need hair as much as her nest.

“apparently i’m good for nest building,” he replies, and rey sucks her lips between her teeth, trying not to smile.  “you might as well,” he tells her, rolling his eyes slightly.  

“how long before you’re bald, do you reckon?” rey asks, giggling a little bit.

“well, they got one hank last night, and then snuggled for a bit.  but i can’t tell if that was a diversion tactic or if they got what they needed.  so probably a week.”

“all your beautiful hair,” rey says in mock mourning.  “i suppose at least it’s being put to good use.  the resistance appreciates your devotion to the cause.”

ben grumbles as rey makes her way into the cockpit.  he hangs back.  he can see chewie sitting there, and chewie has made it quite clear that he will not suffer ben in the same room as him.  that’s the truce he’s made with rey, one that is even more intense than the truce rey had made with the rest of the resistance.  he never wants to look at ben.  he never even wants to catch a whiff of him in the air.

from inside the cockpit, he hears a familiar chirruping noise as rey pushes a porg out of her seat.  part of him wants to go in there, to make his once-upon-a-time uncle look him in the face, make him understand that–that–

ben sags.  he doesn’t know.  chewie had been there.  he’d seen it.  he knows what he thinks and if there’s one thing he’s known about chewie for years it’s that his good opinion, once lost, is lost  _forever_.  

ben makes his way back to his cabin, idly reaching a hand up to brush the ceiling of the falcon.

when he’d been a kid, he’d ridden around on chewie’s shoulders and had done this.  he feels grime and dust now that he hadn’t noticed then.   _maybe i could clean this place,_ he thinks.  he can’t tell if it’d be homage to his father or something that han solo would have been insulted by.  probably both in a way that would have at least earned him an understanding nod.

he pauses in the doorway of the main bay, watching his mother hunched over the dejarik table with poe dameron.  neither look up at him, though he knows his mother knows he’s there.   _that’s the heir she wanted_ , he thinks glumly.   _and she got him in the end, didn’t she?_

he skirts them and pushes into his cabin and sits down on his bed.  captain looks up at him from her nest and makes a squawking noise.  she watches him for a moment, then squawks again.  idly, he reaches a hand down and brushes his fingers over her feathers.  she starts to purr.

“you got kids under there?” he asks her.

she only purrs.

“or eggs, i guess.”  he’s seen nestlings, he’s seen medium sized porglets, and eggs.  the falcon’s about to be overrun and they’re going to need to get rid of some of the creatures–and soon.

the amused image of the first order tracing the resitance on a trail of porg infestations on whatever system they land on makes ben snort as he caresses captain.  “look, if you want more of my hair for your nest, let me give it to you from my hair brush, ok?  i throw that out anyway.”

he has no idea of she understands him.  but somehow he knows he’ll make good on that offer.  and, perhaps just as importantly, she’ll be overjoyed about it.


	3. Chapter 3

he doesn’t mean to name smuggler smuggler.  it just sort of happens.  he sees the way that the porg hoards the hair that ben brushes loose from his scalp every morning and parsels it out to the other porgs throughout the falcon as he sees fit.  ben vaguely wonders if he’s creating a porg black market out of his hair or something, but more than that, the way that the porg distributes the hair reminds him too weirdly of his dad on the runs he’d brought ben on (“our secret, kid.  your mom wouldn’t like it.”) and before he knows it, smuggler has become smuggler, and shares egg-sitting duty with captain when she’s tired of sitting still in their nest for too long.  

smuggler’s an affectionate fellow–more affectionate than captain.  he’s one of the chief porgs who cuddles up to ben when ben is trying to sleep, whose contented purrs soothe the noise in the back of his mind.  he doesn’t think it’s fondness on smuggler’s part–he’s quite convinced that in his sleep, the porg is snuffling around trying to get more hair to hoard.  but he’s happy to pay the price for smuggler’s snuggling.  

“he _sheds_  i swear,” ben hears one of the resistance members muttering just out of earshot.  he’s about to warn them _not_  ot let chewie hear them because the wookiee is very careful about his grooming and will not take kindly to the comment until he sees that the soldier is holding a short string of dark hair with a disgusted expression.  

 _smuggler_ , he thinks, turning away as heat floods his face.  and other porgs who don’t know how to keep track of their resources, apparently.  and now the resistance–on top of begrudging his very presence on the ship, thinks that he _sheds_.  no wonder chewie gets so offended at the implication.  

he shutters himself in his cabin for a moment and goes to sit on the bed.  it is smuggler sitting on the eggs today, not captain, and smuggler looks up at him with big old innocent eyes that are a little too reminiscent of his father.  “the shit you put me through,” he mutters to the porg, who chirps innocently.  (“it wasn’t my fault,” han solo echoes in his mind.)  ben sighs and reaches a hand down and strokes along smuggler’s feathers.  “just be a better dad than him, ok?  you’re already a worse smuggler.”

smuggler chirrups and has no idea what ben meant and a moment later he hops up onto ben’s lap.  

ben frowns.  

it’s uncharacteristic of the porgs to leave the eggs exposed for this long.  space is colder than whatever planet they’d come from, and they don’t like the risk that cold imposes to their prospective children.  smuggler lets out a long call and a moment later captain comes tearing around the corner of the cabin and ben can see why:

the eggs are hatching.  

“will you look at that,” he says, not quite understanding his own awe. he’s never actually seen eggs hatching before and he bends down over smuggler and captain–who has also planted herself on his lap–to watch as the eggs shake and crunch and strange little cheeps begin to fill the room.

there are three of them–three little fluffy grey porglets and as captain and smuggler descend from his lap to nuzzle at their new chicks, one of them stares at ben with big brown eyes and begins to cry.  with its parents occupied by the porglet’s new siblings, ben reaches a hand down to brush a finger over the porgs soft little feathers.

captain lets out a startled cry and bats his fingers away with her wings.  this startles ben.  captain likes him, but he supposes it must be a protective instinct or something.

what surprises him is when the little porg begins to howl in distress and captain looks at him like he’s fatally wounded the thing.  ben leans back, which only makes it cry harder though and so he leans forward to shut it up.

and it does shut up.  it coos up at him happily, big eyes brown and warm and it takes ben a long minute to realize what has happened.

“oh for fuck’s sake.”

the porglet thinks he’s it’s dad.


	4. Chapter 4

“i have some news.  you’re a grandmother.”

his mother gives him a beady look before her eyes drop to his extended hand in which sits the little porglet who is happily humming at the adventure its dad is taking it on.  

leia glances between the porg and ben before she rolls her eyes.  “i’m delighted.  more porgs.”  she looks down at the one in ben’s hand.  “how did you get it away from its mother?  they’re protective little things.  one bit poe the other day for getting too close to her young.”

“this one thinks i’m its dad.  i wasn’t joking.  you’re its grandmother.”

leia’s eyebrows stitch together.  “i’m sorry?” she asks.

“they imprint apparently.”

leia’s lips twitch with mirth she’s not yet ready to show and ben sits down next to her.  they’re in hyperspace and will be for a while, and leia has just finished a long series of conversations with her people.  conversations that ben can’t sit in on because every time he tries, whoever she’s talking with gives him a look, and bites their lip and visibly doesn’t trust him.

it makes it hard to talk to his mother–but then again, he is sort of relieved by that.  this is the first time he’s had something to talk with her about that doesn’t revolve around his causing the death and destruction of the individuals she’d loved since the day her home planet had been annihilated when she was the same age as rey.  

“what’s its name?” she asks, bending down to get a closer look at it.  

ben grimaces.  “that’s why i’m here.  i don’t know what to name it.”

names have meaning.  even captain and smuggler, though he is loath to admit it even to himself, come from a very specific person and very specific memories.  but this little ball of fluff with its big tongue and helpless cheeping…

“well,” his mother says carefully.  “what sort of name do you want for it?  something meaningful or something else?”

ben swallows.  he knows what she’s asking.   _ben_ , his mother had told him when he’d asked where he’d come from.   _ben kenobi.  that’s how your uncle luke knew him.  his name was actually obi wan.  he was a friend of my father’s, and my only hope and without him, you would never have existed._

in his head, a list of names begins to revolve.  his mother’s parents–bail and breha.  they had loved her, and made her feel safe, and involved her in their rebellion and because of that she had lived…while they had died.  somehow, he doesn’t think that his mother would appreciate a ball of fluff being named after her parents.

“just promise me one thing,” his mother says dryly, and he glances up at her from the porglet in his hands.  “don’t name that thing vader, ok?”

ben chokes.  “i won’t,” he mumbles.  

“because i don’t think that’s funny, and i don’t think that it–”

“i won’t, mom.”

she nods.  and then, he doesn’t know _why_  maybe being on this ship is affecting him somehow, he mutters under his breath, “i guess palpatine is out too.”  to his surprise, his mother’s eyes grow sad.  “it was a joke, mom.”

“i know,” she says and her voice is distant.  “you always did have a dry sense of humor.”

“came by it naturally,” he offers and he looks down at the porg again.  “i–”  but he doesn’t know what to say.  he hasn’t talked to his mom about his dad, he hasn’t talked to anyone but rey about that.  suddenly he wishes that rey is there.  he’s less frightened when rey is around, somehow.  maybe because she sees him more clearly than he sees himself sometimes.  and seems to still like him.  he can’t even afford that.  

“i miss him too,” his mother says and she rests a hand on ben’s arm.  “and i don’t know if i’ll ever forgive you for him.  but i find i love you despite, somehow.  and i’m glad you’re here.”

ben’s breath freezes in his chest.  his nostrils flare, his jaw rolls, and he can still feel his father’s hand on his face, right where rey had cut him open.  there had been surprise in his eyes.  and sadness.  and love.  

the love had hurt the most.

“you’ll learn that about parenting,” leia says, reaching a hand over and scratching the top of his little porglet’s head.  “you love them, no matter what they do.  and if i had to lose han and luke, i’m glad i got you back in that bargain.” she pauses and when she speaks again her voice is thick too.  “no one’s ever come back before.”

making sure that his porglet is secure in his hand, he wraps his arms around his mother and holds her the way she’d held him when he’d been little and couldn’t sleep because his dreams were terrifying.  somehow, over the years, he’d gotten to be so much bigger than her, and he can tuck her head under his chin the way she used to tuck his under hers. 

and, wildly–later he might even think sappily–he mumbles.  “what about organa.  as a name for it?”

his mother pulls back from him slightly.  then a smile creeps across her face.  “i’d like that.”

ben brings organa back around so that he and his mother can both look at it.  it’s a fitting name, he thinks idly.  he doesn’t know why.  organa the porg.  organa solo.  


	5. Chapter 5

it gets easier after that–the isolation.  it feels more like what it should be, in any case: that he’s transgressed, that he has committed the unforgiveable, that there’s no one–not even his own mother–who will forgive him for it.  all that is right and how it should be–just how it’s right that his mother somehow still loves him, is glad he’s there all the same.

“can you work your magic on chewie?” ben asks organa as he nudges her towards her _actual_  parent’s nest.  organa has taken to wailing unhappily whenever ben puts her to sleep in the nest alongside her real siblings and real parents.   _is this what human babies are like?_

ben has never wanted a kid.  he’s never even wanted a sibling.  even at his loneliest when he was young, he was too afraid that the voices in his head would affect a younger brother or sister too.  now, over thirty, he’s completely sure that that child’s instinct had been correct.  porglets are cute and all, but they’re a mess to take care of, and he can only imagine that an actual real live baby would be worse.

_if it was yours though…_

if it was his it’d probably turn out to be a monster like him–uncontrollable dark urges that could be far too easily stoked.  as if the whole thought weren’t a foolish excerise in what would never be.  what woman would want his child?  

“your baby keeping you up all night?” rey teases as she comes to sit next to him.  organa is starting to be able to waddle about on her own and is crawling across his legs, cooing happily.  

“yes,” he says and rey bends her face down so that she’s eye-level with the porglet.  (what innocence that she would not immediately think of how close to his groin that would put her face.)  

“hello organa,” she says holding out a hand to the porglet.  (so very close.  ben looks away.  he knows from experience that it won’t all stop when he closes his eyes, but at the very least he won’t be plagued with images of–) “i think she likes me, ben.”

he drags his eyes down and sees organa sniffing at rey’s nose.  then she looks up at ben.

“you’ll have to learn who to trust on your own.  i have a bad track record,” ben tells the porglet.

the porg either understands both words and meaning or has no idea what he says–but it takes a step forward and a moment later it’s patting rey on the nose.  rey’s nose scrunches adorably as she grins and looks up at ben.  “i don’t think i’ve ever seen a porg do that.”

“organa is not a normal porg.  she thinks she’s people.”

“has she seen you patting people on the nose then?”

“no, but she will have seen my mom touch my face,” ben says before the words catch up to him.  he goes bright red.  rey won’t know that.  she won’t.  he doesn’t know if he wants her to know.

but she does the very typically rey thing and doesn’t say anything right away, she just gives him a long, thoughtful look before reaching a hand up and touching his face too.  “that’s wonderful, ben,” she whispers.

“if you keep doing that, you’re going to teach my porg all the wrong things.”  he tries to sound dry, but his voice is just thick and stupid.   _she’s always reaching for me,_ he thinks.   _i abducted her, made her my enemy.  what would have happened if i’d–_

snoke would still be alive and rey…well she wouldn’t be rey.

and he wouldn’t be ben.

organa chirrups happily and starts hopping between them.

“does this mean she’s adopted me?” rey asks, laughing a little bit.

“i don’t know but look out.  she’s very determined when she’s got something in her mind.  maybe you’d be the right mom for her.”

he can’t believe he just said that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i think the reylo has arrived.
> 
> idk how many there'll be that are super reylo focused but the reylo has arrived.


	6. Chapter 6

something’s wrong with organa. 

logically, ben knows that it’s just a porg.  that she’s a tiny ball of fluff being flown through space faster than the speed of life.  that porgs mate more quickly and more prolifically than any creature he’s ever encountered.  that in the grand scheme of things, a porglet doesn’t really mean that much.

but something’s wrong with organa.

he’s sitting there on the floor while the tiny porg snuffles up at him and coughs and looks generally miserable.  she won’t take the food that captain tries to feed her, and her usual boundless energy is obviously depleted.  he can feel how fast her tiny heart is beating, and he wonders if porgs can get fevers.

“come on,” he mutters to her, stroking her belly in what he hopes she’ll think is a comforting way.  “it’ll be ok.  you can…” she can what?  heal?  she can’t even understand him.  she’s a porg.  his porg.  his porg who thinks she’s his dad, who he named after his mom.  his porg, who is sick and tiny, and crushably tiny in his hand.  

“ben?” rey’s standing over him with a quizzical look on her face.  

“she’s sick,” he mumbles and rey’s face changes like lightning.  she settles down on the floor next to him and loops her arm through his.  

“well, heal her,” she says gently.  “can’t the force heal?”

he blinks at her.  force healing isn’t exactly easy, and is a million times easier if you actually know the anatomical layout of the creature you’re trying to heal.  he’s pretty sure that organa is eighty percent fluff, and has no ideas what kind of organs exist underneath.  are her bones avian?  are they hollow?  how fast should her heart be beating.

“i can try,” he whispers, and he looks at rey.  “i don’t know if i can.”

“she’s a porg, ben.”

“yeah.  she is.”  and his kriffing voice cracks and rey’s gently stern expression melts as she rests her head on his shoulder for just a moment.  for just a moment, peace washes over him.  she does that.  makes him feel peaceful.  excpet when she’s making him feel literally every emotion it’s possible to feel and still consider yourself sane.  

“i’ll help,” rey whispers and he feels her force signature unfurl next to his.  “i’m her mom, after all.”  and her hand brushes against his as she runs a thumb over organa’s forhead.  the porg makes sickly, hoarse chirp.  “yeah, it’s me,” she tells the porg.  “we’ll make you feel better.  we’re here, sweetheart.”  something in her voice is a little too serious for someone who’d just said, “ _she’s a porg, ben_.”  maybe organa matters to her too.

together, they stroke the little sick porg.  together, their force curls through her, finding fever.  together, they focus until sweat beads their brows and their breath is shallow from the effort of it all.  somehow, because she is so small, it is harder than either of them had expected.

but after a minute or maybe an hour or maybe a full day, organa’s wheezing turns into contented cooing and her gaze seems a little less glazed as she looks up at them happily, fluffing out her feathers and wiggling her wings.

ben leans back against the ship’s wall, eyes closed, breathing heavily, and rey leans against him again with more of her weight this time.  when ben opens his eyes, he sees chewie standing in the doorway, watching them.

there’s a very strange look in his eyes and ben’s throat goes dry.

this is the longest that chewie’s even acknowledged his presence since he came on board.  and, more a surprise, his gaze isn’t wholly hostile.

how long had he been watching?


	7. Chapter 7

ben can’t breathe.  he is coughing too hard.  his chest is tight, his throat is swollen.  

he can’t remember the last time he was sick.  the force had always burned mundane illnesses out of him and–almost spitefully–he’d done a good job of taking care of his body from greater damage (until rey had aimed for his head with that blade that should have been his).  now he just feels miserable, lying in his slightly-too-small bunk with the vauge hum of the ship all around him.  

it’s smuggler who notices that he hasn’t gotten up first.  smuggler had popped up out of nowhere, probably to snuffle through ben’s pillow for more hair to put on his porgish black market.  he leans curiously towards ben’s face right as ben begins to cough and then squawks in horror, flying halfway across the room.  smuggler’s distress causes the porglets in his nest to begin cheeping and a moment later, organa has emerged because of course she has–tiny indominatable thing that she is.  

“you just got better,” he tells her.  “stay away.  or did you do this to me?”  somehow, he wouldn’t be surprised if whatever porgish plague had affected his porglet had somehow completely wrecked him.  a human’s immune system isn’t designed for the ailments of other creatures.

organa comes and burrows herself in the hair on top of his head and a moment later, smuggler is back too, nuzzling into his neck and humming contentedly.  “i see how it is.  you sense my weakness and are after more hair,” ben coughs, but smuggler doesn’t seem quite that mercenary in this moment.  maybe he’s trying to calm ben back to sleep.  he still sleeps so much better when there’s a porg cuddled up next to him.  

he coughs and a moment later a porg he hasn’t named just yet–though mercenary is stuck in his head, so he decides mercenary it is–coming and settling on his chest, followed by a porg who definitely does not live in his room but seems to have made its way in to see what all the fuss is about.  the hatchlings that aren’t organa clamber up from the nest to cuddle next to their dad, and soon even captain is settled on his chest.

porgish warmth radiates through him, and some of the weird constricted feeling in his chest goes away.  

he coughs, and his heaving chest sends porgs rolling off him and onto the bunk, but they clamber back on anyway.

“does this mean i’m one of you now?” he asks.  “i’m too big for that.”

organa wiggles in his hair, and makes a cheery sound, as though she’s definitely answering his question in the affirmative.

some time later, the door opens, and he opens a bleary eye to see rey poking her head in.

“ben?”

“i’m sick.  go away.  i don’t want you to catch it.”

“there are nineteen porgs sitting on you.”

“i think they’re trying to help?”

“are they?”

“i can’t tell.  i had trouble breathing before they decided to do this and i’m having trouble breathing now.  at least they’re warm.”  

he doesn’t want rey to see him like this, weak and ill and covered in porgs like a little kid who wants a stuffed animal while he sniffles himself to sleep.  thankfully she disappears and relief floods him.  or it does until she reappears a moment later with a glass of water.  she comes and sits on the edge of his bunk.

“seriously–i don’t want you to get sick.”

“if i get sick, i get sick,” rey shrugs.  “drink.  hydrating will help you get better faster.”

she’s right.  he knows she’s right.  she could heal him now, or he could heal himself, but he remembers how blasted he’d felt trying to heal organa and it doesn’t seem worth it.  he’ll suffer through this a little while longer or find a med droid.

rey smooths his hair off his forehead as he drinks–her hands cool and calming.  

“rest,” she tells him when he’s drained the glass.   then she plops a porg right under his chin and says with a somber voice, “take care of him, please.”

**Author's Note:**

> Ok so--I don't seem to be updating this anymore.
> 
> BUT if you want a porny continuation in another fic collection, [here's a porny continuation in another fic collection](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17622032/chapters/42126617).


End file.
